


could take us to the sky

by orphan_account



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: (barely), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, Galra Keith (Voltron), Galra Shiro (Voltron), M/M, Sheith Secret Santa 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:07:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22079680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Two young boys—the Crown Prince of Marmora, Keith, and the Son of the Command, Takashi—find each other in the woods, but are just as quickly separated when Shiro cannot escape Honerva's ever-tight grip on him. Years later, as a war brews between the opposing kingdoms, Keith and Shiro return to the place that brought them together.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 42





	could take us to the sky

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ahhuya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ahhuya/gifts).



> secret santa fic for @Ahhuya on twitter and ao3! i'm not super familiar with abo/fantasy stuff but i hope it's somewhat comprehensible LMAO. happy holidays and new year!

**S**

Shiro was certain he shouldn’t have wandered out this far. 

It was okay, though, or it should have been—with midday approaching one of the Druids would notice his disappearance soon, and even if the Priestess’ servants didn’t manage to find him Honerva herself certainly would. Altean alchemy, or clairvoyance, or something of the like. 

Maybe it was the juxtaposition of it all that drew him out here, that kept him taking tentative steps forward—Shiro had known the dark corridors of the Command his whole life, and the green outside had called out to him since he could remember. 

He hummed as he walked through the leaf-littered forest floor, reveling in the soft breeze that weaves its way through the yawning trees, and the patchy, green-blue-black bark of moss-covered trunks, and the snap of branches and dried leaves beneath his bare feet. While the afternoon sun hung heavy and suffocating overhead, a cool snowglobe of a world was created by the forest canopy where only weak flecks of light tickled his face. 

Each step was lighter than the next; it was that easy for him to lose himself here. The smell of the earth enveloped Shiro completely. 

So he didn’t even have time to fully take in the flash of black that comes hurtling at him from, it seemed, above. A second later, Shiro was pinned to the ground, writhing against the soft packed soil with something sharp pressed against his chest—a knee—and heat splayed against his throat—fingers. 

As soon as Shiro started to scream, a silver dagger came plummeting toward his face. He screwed his eyes shut, neck twisted so that his cheek presses against the cool dirt. He tasted it, too. “ _Shut up_ ,” a gravelly voice hissed. “Don’t make me.” 

And then something about that caused his eyes to slowly crack open. _Boyish_ , that’s what it was, Shiro realized, trying to blink the hazy figure above him into focus. The voice belonged to a boy. 

He saw twin galaxies of violet stars settled deep in gold nebulae before anything else—before purple skin paler than this, and uncut raven locks that fall around a face too young and too fierce, and unsheathed fangs biting into a lower lip. He couldn’t stop the gasp that is pulled out of his lungs. 

He didn’t know this face, that smell of wood and spice. He could not look away. 

“What?” the boy furrowed his brows at him. “Why’re you looking at me like—” 

Shiro grabbed both his wrists at once and sent the boy flying backward as he scrambled up to his feet. Almost immediately, the boy rose to his knees and frantically looked around for his blade, until he snapped his head up—Shiro clasped it between shaky palms, holding it over the boy’s frame. From where he stood above him, the boy seemed awfully small for someone so brave. A black cloak draped over his shoulders, hood thrown back, and a scabbard hung loose from his hips. 

“You don’t know how to use that,” the boy snapped. If he was afraid, he wasn’t showing it. “Give it back to me.” 

“Where’d you come from?” Shiro asked, wishing he didn’t sound so stuttery. “You—you jumped out of nowhere.” 

The boy rolled his eyes and stood up as Shiro took a step back, blade still pointed out. Quiznak, he _was tiny_ , barely reaching Shiro’s shoulders. Even his pointed ears, jutting out through his hair from the sides of his head, were too large for his body. “That was the point, dummy. Wouldn’t be much of a surprise if I came up to you and asked, _hey, mind if I wave this knife in your face?_ ” Laughing, he wiped the dirt from his cloak. “Now give it back.” 

Shiro’s brows drew close. “How do I know you won’t do it again?” 

“I wasn’t actually going to kill you,” he said, frowning. “That’d be a smear to my name. ‘Specially ‘cause you’re from the Village.” 

Shiro dropped the blade to the ground. The boy picked it up swiftly and tucked it into his scabbard. _The Village_? Was that what people were calling the Command now? 

“Your name?” he said instead. 

“You don’t know who I am?” The boy cocked his head to the side. “Everyone does.” 

_Alpha_ , Shiro thought. 

“Keith,” the boy said. “Keith Kogane, Crown Prince of Marmora.” He flashed his teeth in a grin. 

But the sun on his forehead was suddenly too much, and Shiro’s head was already spinning. Because— 

This was who Honerva warned him about. 

It was written in prophecy, she’d said. _The boy with Galra blood and a Marmorite crown will tear stars from the sky for you, my child_ , she would say, claws curled around his cheek. Her eyes were glassy; it was the only way he could tell she was reciting something from memory. _But the Other Side is ruthless. Peace will cease to exist between our realms unless you stop him._

_Kuron_. Her pet name for him. He didn’t know why. It didn’t matter. _Do you know what that means?_

_No, High Priestess_ , he would say, _I don’t._

_You are the Son of the Command. You were destined for this, Kuron._

_To keep the balance of this world, you must wipe his existence off the face of the planet._

He had not understood it then, and looking into this boy’s—Keith’s—expanseless purple eyes veiled by dark bangs, Shiro still didn’t now. 

“I’m Takashi Shirogane,” Shiro stuttered. He took a breath in to collect himself, taking in the surrounding tree trunks and soft ground beneath his feet again. He stuck out a limp hand. “Oh, and I’m eleven.” Too much? “I’m also lost.” Definitely too much. 

Keith regarded him, curious. “Shiro,” he decided. Shiro felt his heart skip a beat. “I’ll call you Shiro—that okay with you?” 

“Y—yeah, sure, Keith,” Shiro said, quietly revelling in how easy Keith’s name rolled off his tongue. 

Keith took his hand and gives it a firm shake. “I’m a year younger than you.” 

“Figures,” Shiro said. He had trouble biting back the smile that crept over his lips. “You’re so—” 

“Short?” Keith rolled his eyes, snapping, “Look, d’ya want me to show you how to get back home or not?” 

“Sure.” 

That was before he realized that home for Keith is the opposite of where Shiro should be right now. The boy is already walking ahead. 

Shiro looked to the spires in the distance, puncturing the sky like needles. He had always counted on them to find his way back. 

He turned back to the boy. “Wait up!” 

The trek was silent for the most part. Keith slashed through the bramble in their way with a fascinating sort of ease, keeping his eyes trained forward. Shiro felt like he was trailing behind a wild cat on the hunt just from how quiet Keith was, even with his knife, and every time leaves crunched under his boots he cringed as if the prey has scattered. 

“You sneak out often?” 

The question caught him by surprise, and finally caught up Shiro gawks at him as he sputters, “Wha—sneak out? I’m not, this isn’t—” 

Keith laughed. His whole face lit up with it. “You don’t have to lie. I’m not going to tell your parents, don’t worry.” 

_Parents?_

“Yeah,” Shiro said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck instead of dwelling on that word, “yeah, I do come out here sometimes. It’s, uh, nice.” 

“Yeah.” Keith nodded like he knew. “I don’t get to climb trees an’ jump down an’ tackle people anywhere else. Mother’s always watching me like a hawk.” Keith’s nose crinkled. “She’ll be mad I’m late. We should hurry.” 

They both hopped over a tiny stream of water, making sure to avoid where the mud has gone soft. “Your—mother,” Shiro said. It was the first time he tested the word out. Sometimes Honerva would refer to herself as his and he’d wonder if that’s how he was supposed to, too, but High Priestess always fit in the confines of his mouth better. “Is she also royalty?” 

“You’re a bit dense, huh?” Keith barked out a laugh. Shiro knew he should be offended, but he wanted to hear what Keith had to say, so he laughed with him. “She’s the Queen,” Keith said, far too coolly, “and my father was her King.” 

When Keith stopped in his tracks, so did Shiro. 

The relentless sun was stronger now, painting swaying shadows of branches and leaves over this beautiful boy’s face. He thought that, for a split second, the sclerae of his eyes looked gold in the light. 

Keith’s upper lip quivered over his teeth. “The Command took my father away from us.” And then when he turned to look at Shiro, the gold was gone, replaced by their familiar sparkle. 

Shiro didn’t understand and he would never let that be known. He just stared at Keith before they start walking again. 

Still, as if the day wasn’t unbelievable enough, nothing could prepare him for Marmora. 

When Keith said “We’re back,” all they were faced with was the same trees. Then Keith extended a flattened palm out and a luminescent wave rippled through the air, expanding outward to reveal a dome-like barrier. Behind it, row upon row of steel steeples reached for the solid blue sky and fell back down to violet stained glass windows that captured every particle of sunlight. But it wasn’t even that. People who look like Keith— _like Shiro_ —were scattered over the cobblestone paths, all blue and white and lilac fur and imposing heights draped by beautiful ochre and burgundy linens. A group of smaller ones chased each other, weaving through and diving under legs, only to be nabbed by the collar by others and scolded—he couldn’t _hear_ them, just saw the shape of their mouths—and let go with a shake of the head. Some, older, went at a leisurely pace, carrying flower gathering baskets and clay pots. 

Shiro found a man with a form swaddled tight to his chest. A head barely covered by a tuft of white hair peeks out. 

“You going?” 

It reeled him back in. He swiveled around to face Keith, arm still outstretched. 

“Uh—” Shiro started to gurgle. _What was this place?_ How did it exist in the middle of the forest? He swore he had been at this exact tree stump before, and never had he seen an entire city spring up from the mulchy ground. “I’m gonna, uh, wait…” 

“For your parents?” 

“Yeah,” Shiro replied, nods, too, “yes.” 

“‘Kay,” Keith shrugged. “One of Mother’s knights are probably gonna come looking for me soon. Mind if I sit with you?” 

“Okay.” 

Keith removed his hand from the barrier, the entire dome and city disappearing into the ground without so much as a whisper in the wind. It was just the trees that flanked the clearing in every direction. Keith took a prompt seat in front of one and waited for Shiro to do the same. 

Shiro didn’t really know what to say now, but it was a different kind of silence than the one that stretched between him and Honerva whenever she called him into her throne hall. The thought of her and her Druids had long slipped his mind. 

There was only the fading sun, the cool damp floor under his legs, this boy. 

His name was Keith. 

Watching Keith’s hands clasped behind his head and eyes flutter closed, it was easy for Shiro to do the same. Sleep never fully took him; he faded in and out of it, occasionally stirring awake to the sight of Keith. He looked fast asleep, chest slowly rising and falling. Shiro wondered what it’d be like to crawl a little closer and press his body up to the smaller boy’s, surrounded by the warm hint of spice. He imagined that that cloak must be very soft. 

In between the drifting, there was no dreaming. 

Every night after he would head to his chamber, two Druids with fire-lit palms following soundlessly at his heels, and crawl into a corner of his room and pull the threadbare sheet over his chest, Shiro would live a hundred different lives in his sleep. Sometimes he was in Honerva’s lap, letting her scrape long fingernails along his scalp. Sometimes he was trying to get to her, running and running to a pair of unblinking amber at the end of seemingly endless pitch black corridors. But there was no dreaming now. He expected to see her every time his eyes closed, and yet when they opened up to a sleeping Keith again, he realized that she never made an appearance. 

One thing was for sure, though—when Shiro regained consciousness for what must have been the fifth time, inky skies had completely unfolded above. Loose leaves dance in the sharp winds, twirling around them in tiny tornadoes. Yet it isn’t panic that overtakes him. 

Too close to his face are two strangely familiar slow-blinking eyes. 

“Oh, good, you’re awake.” Keith smiles, pushing back to sit on his haunches. As quickly as it was flashed, Keith’s lips tugged down as he craned his neck upward. “It’s dark.” 

Under starless skies Keith’s irises glow more than ever as if they absorb all light, and maybe, Shiro would think years later, that was why it was so dark. 

“Oh,” Shiro said. Maybe it was all he would ever be able to say. “You’re still here.” 

“Yeah. You, too.” _Your parents aren’t here yet._

“It is dark,” Shiro parroted Keith. He saw his breath when he exhaled. “Cold, too.” 

He caught Keith flash another toothy smile—no fangs, though. “Wanna know a secret?” 

“Doesn’t that mean you’re not ‘spos to tell anyone?” He couldn’t help grinning back. 

Keith huffed. “Well, yeah, Mother said I should wait till I’m older, but…” 

Shiro strained to find the playfulness dancing in his eyes behind Keith’s dark lashes. He didn’t dare blink when he whispered, “I won’t tell.” 

Keith fell back into a seated position. 

Closing his eyes, his chest puffed up as he took a deep breath in. When he opened them, he brought his flattened palms, one covering the other so that the back of his hands face the ground and the sky, toward Shiro. “This’ll keep us warm,” Keith whispers. 

He removes the hand covering his open palm. 

In the middle of his child-sized hand, atop dirt-covered flesh traced with a hundred soft folds and marked with callouses from where his skin has rubbed against the hilt of his blade, a tiny flame dances. The scarlet licks at Keith’s skin contentedly, spreads to his fingertips, and leaves no charring behind. _Witch._

Shiro had seen the Druids use their fire hundreds of times. Tendrils of blue and purple and thick, black smoke that always followed. It had always made him cower. 

He had learned their striking pattern. 

He had learned to hold his breath. 

But if this was real, if this wasn’t a dream, the flame before him drew him out. Shiro wanted to reach out and hold it in his hands and let it slither around his wrists, mark him up and down, and he wasn’t sure why he couldn’t shake that image from his head. 

“ _Keith!_ ” 

Keith whirled. As his arms swung, the flame was extinguished by the wind. A form began to step out of the rippling air—the barrier—and approach Keith. 

Shiro didn’t think before he scrambled to duck behind the tree he was leaning on, back pressed to the scraggly trunk as his heart threatened to jump into his mouth. 

“Where were you?” The voice was all deep rumbling reverberating from the chest, but that wasn’t enough to hide its concern. “I looked _everywhere_ , Yorak.” 

He heard shuffling of boots. Keith’s voice was muffled when he spoke. “I just wanted to practice using my blade.” 

“I told you not to go out in the forest. Especially not alone. It’s not safe.” 

“I wasn’t alone! I found—” Shiro felt heat creep up his neck. “Wait, there was, he was just—” 

A sigh. “Let’s go, Yorak. Kolivan wishes to have a word with you.” 

“But, Mother—” 

“ _Now._ ” 

“ _Rrgh. Fine._ ” 

Shiro allowed himself to finally peek from behind the tree. Walking with their backs to him, the woman Keith called Mother towered over him, one giant claw around his shoulder. He could tell where Keith got his unruly hair from. 

As the air around them started to wave again, half of Keith’s body disappearing into nothing, she turned. Shiro swore that her eyes locked on his and for a second his heart stilled. Besides her piercing gaze, there was something _knowing_ in the way she regarded him. 

And then she stepped through the barrier, too, and both of them were gone. 

There was a Druid in front of him. Its cowl rippled where it barely hovered above the ground. 

“ _The High Priestess is not pleased with you._ ” 

Shiro looked up to the starless sky, saw violet eyes freshly imprinted in his mind, and tried to remember how they got here. He was just walking through the forest. 

* * *

Her voice ripped through his body. He could not find her physical body, and yet the sound punctured every particle in the room. Cold breath from her every word slipped into his throat, filling his lungs and diffusing into his bloodstream until it feels as if she would climb out through his skin. 

Another pulse of energy and Shiro cried out, brought down to all fours. “Please,” Shiro panted. He pressed his palms the cold metal and forced his body up, forced himself to look up, where is she, where are you, please stop, please just hold me, I’m sorry. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—I got lost. I was trying to get back, High Priestess. I was trying to come back home.” 

“You utter lies,” Honerva seethed. Suddenly there were claws gripping his face, tilting his chin upward, and he felt blood pool where her nails pierced through skin. Her face was barely millimetres from his. He could feel the quintessence radiating off her flesh. “I did not raise you to become this way, Kuron.” 

“I’m sorry,” he whimpered again, “I’m sorry, High Priestess. I can do better.” 

Her voice was fire and ice and screeching metal. “Do not anger me again.” 

His lips quivered. His eyes burned. 

“Yes, High Priestess.” 

She pushed Shiro’s face back down to the ground as she released her grip. Without a sound, she was gone in a blinding flash, leaving Shiro alone in the Komar. 

* * *

Shiro rose before the sun. 

He didn’t know that, not within the windowless walls of his chamber. He knew that he has tossed and turned all night, unable to shake Keith from his thoughts, and trying to remember how it felt to have the breath knocked out of him when the boy tackled him to the ground. 

He crawled out of the corner he sleeps in, feeling around in the dark for that part where his fingers will snag. 

“Ow,” Shiro said, with a small smile. He slid the loose sheet of metal from the wall and set it gently on the floor. 

He went in feet-first. Over his head, he used both hands to push him through the tiny space—he remembered the tunnel being so much wider and squeezing through its kinks easily the last time he’d snuck out this way, when his body wasn’t folded, shoulders almost touching. 

Upright, now, Shiro’s feet finally met the end. He shimmied a little closer, tucked his legs in, and kicked once— 

—making a mental note of how loud the clatter is. 

The air stilled in a telltale way that could only mean one thing. 

Shiro screwed his eyes shut as the disappearance of metal walls allowed his sore limbs to unfurl. He fell backward, greeted by the site of familiar sconces too weak to illuminate more than five feet ahead. 

The Druid loomed over him, open palms crackling with embryonic sparks of dark energy. No, _remnants_ of dark energy. 

He tried to ignore the Druid body slacken across the floor beside him. 

Shiro’s fists clenched against the ground and his fingers scraped against its rough grittiness—oh. They must have been _really_ far down. 

Then he watched the Druid’s hands lower. 

“Takashi.” 

His eyes widened. He’d never heard his name coming from the mechanical voice of Honerva’s soldiers. 

Shiro clambered backward as the magician lowered themselves to the ground, knees thumping when their cowl met stone. 

The Druid’s mask slid back, revealing the face of a woman with the features he recognizes: pointed, furred ears and purple skin. Quickly, though, his attention was drawn to eyes bluer than the sky and brighter than the sun and deeper than the winding depths of this place he called home. A snowfall of ivory hair that matched softly-upturned lashes peeked from the hood of her cowl, wisping gently around sharp cheeks. 

“Takashi,” she said again, and this time it was with her real voice, gentle as a lamb but powerful enough to jar him back to reality. “Takashi Shirogane, right?” 

“How do you know my—” 

She felt the air shift. When she closed her eyes for a moment, she saw the next timed pair of Druids beyond the bend in the corridor behind them. 

The Druid brought two fingers to Shiro’s lips, promptly shushing him, and before he had time to react she covered his entire body with hers, and they were under the sunrise when she slowly pulled back. She had teleported them to the edge of the Command, where deciduous trees began to bleed into the land. The dawn wind slipped through the collar of his shirt and Shiro shivered. 

“We’re too vulnerable here.” The Druid—this woman—reached for Shiro with outstretched claws. Shiro took them, letting her pull him up. She teleported them again and this time they ended up inside the forest, but if he squinted he could still see home through the trees. 

On the ground, the woman dragged him towards her, tucking them behind a mossy thicket. And then her face _morphs_ , lavender skin becoming a rich, smooth brown. A _shapeshifter_ , the word surfaces in Shiro’s mind; he remembers when Honerva taught him of their rarity. 

Shiro swallowed before he speaks. “You’re—you’re not using your magic on me.” 

“What?” Then her features melted into some form of understanding. “Oh, Gods, _no_. These people—” They contorted, now. She took a breath to stop herself. “You were trying to find him, yes?” 

“Yeah,” he said, a little awed at her beauty, a little terrified. “Do you know him?” 

“I do.” 

“I don’t under—” 

“Find Keith,” she said hurriedly. She looked behind them to the Command, turned back and exhaled. “I’ll cover for you, Takashi. But you must leave now. I must be going, too.” 

“Wait!” he scooted closer and clutched her sleeves. “How do you know Keith? How do you know my name? I never got yours—” 

The fabric bunched between his hands turned to air. Shiro let out a punched out breath when all that was left was post-teleportation gold glimmer, drifting in the air. 

* * *

“Hah!” Keith’s blade sliced the air right next to Romelle’s bared neck. “Gotcha.” 

She stilled for a second before groaning. 

Keith lowered his blade and tucked it into his scabbard with a laugh. Romelle immediately did the same with hers and tackled Keith to the ground, growling as she playfully tugged at his hair. 

“Hey!” Keith squirmed under her grasp. “No hand to hand!” 

“Children.” They both froze at the sound of Coran’s thunderous voice, quickly untangling themselves from each other and standing. 

“Good afternoon, Father Coran!” Keith and Romelle exclaimed in unison, pressing their left hands to fisted rights and bowing. 

It was Romelle who broke first when they rise, throwing herself at his legs. She smiled way too big for her face when she looked up at him. “How did we do? I was better, right, Father?” 

Coran politely removed her arms from himself, taking a small step back. “You are getting too wrapped up in the enemy, Romelle. In the process, you ignore your own weaknesses.” The young student frowned at his words. Unable to help himself, though, Coran sighed and pats her head. “Yes, you were more attentive than the last time. But you have much room for improvement.” 

Romelle nodded vigorously, beaming. 

“Yorak,” Coran regarded the younger student. Keith’s ears twitched at the tone with which Coran spoke to him. It’s not an unfamiliar one; he couldn’t remember a time when someone senior to him was ever eager to praise his efforts and abilities, and it was with a bitter taste in his mouth that he thought of the reprimanding he would receive if he fought—or did anything, really—at the same level as his peers. “We discussed extending your left foot in the horizontal cut last class.” 

Keith had it ingrained in his head: acknowledge, apologize, swear. The only hard part was fighting the urge to roll his eyes. “Father Coran, I know that I—” 

“I’m glad to have seen improvement today.” 

Keith stared at him for a moment. The word didn’t come until another passed. “Th—thank you, Father. I’ll keep working on it.” 

He nodded. “Get yourselves packed up. Your parents are waiting for you downstairs.” 

Keith and Romelle rushed to remove their chest plates and shin guards, but before they headed down, Keith grabbed her by the wrist. 

“What is it?” Romelle blinked her huge, curious eyes. 

_A boy who looks like us with a mind that seems worlds away._ “N—nothing,” Keith said, quickly letting go. “Let’s go.” 

* * *

Shiro wandered the forest seemingly aimlessly, somehow more lost than he was yesterday. He wasn’t even surprised when he happened upon Keith. His back to Shiro, the boy at the edge of a shallow stream, where he picked up rocks and threw them idly into the water. Keith watched them sink as soon as they hit the surface. 

“Just gonna stand there?” Shiro shouldn’t have been surprised. He approached Keith and crossed his legs over the rocky shore. 

“I met someone,” Shiro said, staring at the current. 

“Yeah?” 

“She—she helped me get here.” 

Shiro squinted at the light reflecting off the water. 

“Teleportation, I think,” he murmured. 

“What?” Keith gasped. Suddenly he was up and had both Shiro’s arms in his grasp, covering the sun and the sky and the everything. “What?” he said again. “This person—can _teleport_? Mother said there weren’t any witches who could do that. Gods, can I meet her? I have to learn how to do that!” 

“You—I mean, aren’t they—” whoever _they_ were “—teaching you that in, uh, Witch School?” 

He snorted at that. “I don’t go to _Witch School_ , if that’s what everyone thinks. Even Mother’s reluctant to teach me.” He fell back down beside Shiro with a sigh. “The only ability I’ve discovered is fire, but I’m not good at using it yet,” Keith grumbled, “if you couldn’t tell.” 

“You’re good with the knife.” 

“Father Coran would argue otherwise,” he muttered. His eyes lit up again. “Can I meet her, though? The teleporter. Where does she live? I’ll have Mother send an escort.” 

“I… don’t know,” Shiro said. It wasn’t a lie. “She teleported me out of the C—my home, but she didn’t even tell me her name and just… disappeared.” 

“You have to find her again.” Keith groaned. “I’ll be the worst witch ever if you don’t.” 

“But you’re a prince.” Shiro smiled, remembering tales Honerva told him and the words she used to describe him. “Not everyone can say that about themselves.” 

Keith picked up another rock and began tossing it from hand to hand. The flowing current took its time. 

“I know,” he murmured, “that’s what people think. But they don’t get it.” 

Keith chewed on his lip. His ears were lowered. Shiro realized it was the first time Keith let himself falter, and Keith must have known it, too, because he didn’t say anything about _they don’t get it_ beyond that. 

Shiro kept quiet. 

“Sometimes I wonder how it’d feel to be… someone like you.” Keith paused. “From the Village, I mean.” He stilled his hands, clutching the rock. “Everyone looks… I dunno.” _Happy._

Shiro knew it was cue to speak, but he couldn’t think of anything other than his chamber. “It’s quiet.” 

“Really?” Keith’s brows arched. 

“Home is,” Shiro said quickly. “Most of the time. Uh.” Keith was staring, waiting for him to go on. “My mother tells me stories.” 

“About?” 

Shiro’s throat closed around the word. He coughed. _You. Me._ “Two boys.” 

“Oh, yeah?” Keith grinned wildly. 

_Beautiful_ , Honerva said of the Crown Prince, _but he will use it as a mask._

_Strong-willed, but that will be his downfall._

_Powerful, but—_

“Are they like us?” 

_—never as powerful as you._

“No. Not really.” 

After a while, Keith said he had to leave. He asked if Shiro had to wait for his parents again. Shiro said yes. 

When Shiro returned home, he snuck in through the west gate as he always did. He expected to be pinned by Honerva’s magic as soon as he stepped foot in the Command. But there was nothing. Shiro went up to his chamber unharmed and in a daze. 

He collapsed in the corner of sheets. Morning had already come and a Druid would come to wake him soon, but he tried not to think about that as he closed his eyes. 

“Thank you,” he said. 

* * *

Shiro saw the same Druid the next morning. He didn’t know how she was finding him, but she was there when he crawled out of the wall. A second Druid was sprawled on the ground again. 

She teleported him wordlessly out. Shiro tried to get answers out of her. She left before he could utter two words. 

He and Keith had agreed to meet at the same stream yesterday. When Shiro found him, Keith took off running. 

“Catch me!” he called, glancing back at Shiro his wide grin. 

_I’m going to get lost_ , Shiro thought, and he charged after Keith. 

Keith navigated steep and leaf-strewn paths like the back of his hand, cleared bramble hedges so easily there was no way Shiro could keep up. He never lost sight of Keith, though, and it seemed the smaller boy was slowing down. 

Shiro stopped a few feet away from him, chest heaving and lungs burning for oxygen. It was then that he thought to look around—Keith brought them _deep_ into the forest, and right to the biggest tree Shiro had ever seen in his life, from the girth of its towering trunk to sprawling branches far above to the little plant life under its shadow. 

“I’m going to climb this tree.” 

“There’s no where for your feet to go,” Shiro frowned. 

Later, when he would try to remember how everything unravelled so wrong, it is these words that would come to mind and make him smile: “Watch me.” 

So Shiro did. Bemused when Keith began to unbuckle his boots and shake them off his feet, Shiro understood why when four razor claws extended from Keith’s toes. 

Really, though, Shiro expected something else: jagged movements that cut cumbersomely through the air, unnatural bending of the knees, low grunting. But he was witness to a different creature entirely. Keith’s muscles worked almost on instinct, each pump of his quads flowing seamlessly into the next movement. He kept his eyes trained forward as if he knew exactly when to duck and where each extremity was at all times and where it would go next, and Shiro thought it was that trust in his capabilities that awed him most. Keith’s claws scraping at the soft bark as he propelled himself upward was, other than distance chirping and the trickle of water, the only sound. 

He didn’t stop when he reached the first large branch, kept climbing higher without pause until the tree’s limbs were getting too scrawny and he settled on a thick enough limb. 

Keith crawled over it and swung both legs over either side of it. He draped his body over the branch rested his head on top of folded arms, turning to look down at Shiro. Heights scared Shiro enough that his knees went soft just staring back up at him. Shiro would learn—or perhaps he was born knowing—that it wasn’t only physical distance that made Keith seem untouchable. 

He shouted down, probably smiling “Hey, Shiro.” 

“Okay, you win,” Shiro called back with a laugh. _How’re you gonna get down from there?_ he nearly asked, but of course Keith would know how. “What can you see from up there?” 

“Everything,” Keith said. He wasn’t quite projecting his voice anymore. He surveyed the area. “I mean,” Keith chuckled, “lotsa branches and leaves.” He gasped and abruptly sat up, glancing at Shiro. “I could teach you. It’s so much fun.” 

“To—climb trees? Uh,” nervous laughter now, “I probably can’t.” 

“Sure you can!” Keith exclaimed. He was already clambering over the branch to the trunk. Quiznak. “I’ll show you! It’s not that hard.” 

Shiro was certain that the descent couldn’t have been as graceful as the ascent. He didn’t think Keith was going to go down _headfirst_ , and at lightning speed, just a blur of blue and black. Keith landed on the floor on all fours but quickly rose to feet as he approached Shiro, brushing off the leaves stuck to his cloak. 

“I’ll show you,” he said, again. “We can start small. But wait.” 

Quickly, Keith pulled out his sword. He slashed the bark of the tree with a large X—“So we always know where we’ve been.” 

Then he extended his hand. 

Shiro took Keith’s hand and let him pull him forward. Keith guided him to a stout tree, and up close, Shiro felt two things: his stomach drop and fear of Keith’s fearlessness. 

Keith showed him how to use his claws—which could barely qualify as such, never having grown as much as Shiro hoped they would—to grip. Shiro wasn’t sure why he thought Keith would guide him from afar, but the boy was tactile. Even though he was less than a foot up Keith had both hands under his shoulders, and he showed no signs of struggle hoisting Shiro up despite being smaller, clucking his tongue whenever Shiro bent his feet the wrong way. He held Shiro tighter when he slipped, loosened his grip when Shiro got a little braver, let go when he couldn’t reach him anymore and went climbing up after him. 

They settled on the first branch, and Shiro worried about how he was going to get down. 

They would change their designated meeting spot from the stream to the _big tree, just look up if you forget where it is, you can’t miss it, Shiro_. Keith vowed that Shiro would climb it with him one day. Shiro silently disagreed. 

Most mornings, Takashi Shirogane saw Keith Kogane. Shiro woke up and rendezvoused with the Druid, averting the draped form on the ground and how maybe the woman had crescents hollowing under her eyes, how she no longer spoke to him, how she staggered after she used magic. He would meet Keith by the tree and let the boy drag him everywhere, demand Keith to guide him back to the tree because it was the only point from which he knew how to get back home. 

Sometimes Keith Kogane arrived first and Takashi Shirogane found him staring at the fire in his hands. Keith showed him once and he talked about it sometimes, but he always extinguished the flames when he turned at Shiro’s footsteps. 

Sometimes Takashi Shirogane ventured out to nothing but the forest, and that was fine, too. He’d wander a bit, wish Keith were with him as he clambered up a tree and stood shakily upright on a branch, looking out at the Command, and where he knew Marmora was. 

* * *

Perhaps it happened in the spring. Although when Shiro would think back, he remembered that mornings with Keith stretched into dense windless afternoons with the sun beating down on them, so it must have happened later, in autumn. 

Shiro kicked the panel and fell into, quite literally, the woman’s arms. They were in the forest before he could even take another breath. 

“Thank you,” he said, as he always did. 

“Takashi,” the woman said. Shiro was beginning to forget what her voice sounded like, but he certainly didn’t remember it being like this, gravelly and beat down. “Takashi,” she said again, “I need you to listen to me.” 

She was holding him, he realized, for support. 

Shiro grasped her arms back. She had allowed him to trust her and it was only fair he let her know she could rely on him, too. Shiro’s brows knotted like he knew this was serious. 

“I suppose I should have answered your questions earlier.” The woman smiled small. “Forgive me. I’ve been so wrapped up on getting you out safely, on the _mission_ …” She sighed. “I have a lot to tell you, Takashi. 

“Let me start with who I am—Princess Allura, Witch.” 

“It’s nice to meet you, Princess,” Shiro said, hushed and bewildered. “But why have you been helping me?” 

_Druid_. Honerva’s eyes came alive behind the woman’s. The Druid grit her teeth, trying to will it away and knowing her efforts were useless. 

“Are you—sick?” 

Illness wasn’t an entirely foreign concept to Shiro. Objectively, he knew what it was—the body fighting pathogens, or itself, or something. He just didn’t know how it presented itself. The way the woman held her head like that? 

_Druid, are you playing games?_

How she fell down to his height, choking out a breath? 

“Takashi,” she forced the words out, “you must find Keith so he can pass this message onto his mother— _White Lion_.” 

_Something_ seized her body. Shiro watched in horror as the woman became rigid in her kneeling position and gold light began to cloud—no, _pour out_ of her eyes. 

_I do like playing cat and mouse. But the hunting is too easy._

_I have been watching you, child. Did you underestimate me? I made you. Did you forget that?_

I understand. Children will misbehave… and mothers will discipline. 

“Go, Takashi!” She barely managed to gurgle the words, irises flickering from gold to blue to gold. “ _Now!_ ” 

_You know, it’s the afterplay I prefer._

_When the still-limp vermin’s organs are made a knotted mess from being thrashed around like an infant’s rattle, before the cat decides she is bored and finally sinks her teeth in._

_My little mouse._

Shiro rose to his feet and _bolted_. 

“White Lion!” she shouted, but it barely reached him. He didn’t look back. “ _Make sure it gets to Krolia!_ ” 

_Come home to me._

Shiro kept running and running and running. 

* * *

Shiro was inconsolable. 

Tears and tears and shaking and more tears when Keith happened upon him, sliding to the ground, and, oh, it was _Keith_ , Keith found him. 

“She—she was helping me get out, the teleporter—” it all came out in a rush thick in his mouth “—but something—she froze, her eyes, the light—she couldn’t—” 

Keith dropped with him, unsure of what else to do. “Slow down,” Shiro heard. There were hands on his knees applying the slightest pressure. 

“She said—” he gulped air. How did Keith get here? “—White Lion. _Her name was White Lion._ ” And there had been another. Another name on the tip of his tongue, _quiznak_ , what was it? 

“Who said?” Keith asked. “Shiro, what are you talking about?” 

The daybreak wind whipped against his wet face. It came plummeting back to him fast—that Keith thought he was from the _Village_ , that Keith waited for hours with him for his _parents_ as daylight died. 

That his father was killed by… them. 

Shiro’s chest heaved shakily. He tried taking another breath in. 

He said the only thing he knew. “It… was a dream.” 

Keith’s smile made it a little more painful and a little more bearable. “Oh. It sounded like—I thought something really bad happened to you. Are you okay?” 

“Yeah,” Shiro said. Tried to smile back. “I think so.” 

“White Lion, huh?” Shiro watched Keith spring to his feet. “Some name.” Keith crinkled his nose at the sun, weak through a haze of passing clouds, and his eyes trailed down to tree canopies. 

_Krolia._ “I—” Shiro stopped. It was a dream. _It was a dream._ “Yeah. I dunno.” 

“Hm.” Keith fell back against the ground, cushioning his head with folded arms. 

Shiro saw the Princess’s body struggling against the force. He didn’t want to admit it to himself, but he knew all too well what was happening. 

He’d forgotten what it felt like, though. He couldn’t remember the last time her magic had slashed through his skin or the heat that ensued. He forgot how cold and empty the Komar was. 

When was she coming? 

Shiro stretched out beside him on his stomach. Looked at Keith. 

“What if I didn’t go back home?” It was barely a whisper. 

“I would issue a kingdom-wide search for you.” Keith smiled, and Shiro wondered, for the first time, when he would see it again. “Or I would ask Mother to.” 

“But what if I stayed here?” 

Keith turned. “In the forest?” 

“Yeah.” 

“I’d bring you food and water so you didn’t die,” Keith decided. “We’d build a hut for you together, out of sticks and mud. You’d have to let me stay in it sometimes, though.” 

“Yeah?” Shiro closed his eyes, screwed them even tighter until the sun no longer peeked through. He flattened his palm over the moss on the ground. He made fists with his hands, feeling the soil squeeze through between his fingers. “You’d come?” 

“Yeah. Of course.” 

“What if you couldn’t find me?” The words were shuddery on his lips. 

Nothing. He wondered if he was already home—the thought left poison coiling in his stomach. 

But Keith said “I would,” and he felt like crying. He clenched his fists tighter, tighter. He wished he was brave enough to open his eyes. “Hey, Shiro?” 

“Yes?” he choked. Do it. _Do it. You’ll never see—_

He opened his eyes. 

“No,” Shiro gasped, sobbing, rising to his hands and knees and plunged in pitch black, crawling around for something, something that _wasn’t_ her, “no—” 

He crawled over an edge and fell through the darkness. Falling, falling, falling, until his body slammed into another metal surface, and he thought he could hear his own bones clatter. He struggled up, feeling around in the expanseless blind space. His chest heaved with each sob. He couldn’t breathe, but it wasn’t her. 

He barred himself from thinking anything other than: get out. He had to let her know his tears weren’t meant for her. 

Gravity took over again as the ground before him opened into another crater. He inhaled as he swung an arm over the invisible edge, holding on and grunting at how it dug into his palm. _Use your claws, Shiro. You were born with them for a reason._

Everything shifted. Suddenly he was falling forward, somersaulting before he was launched back. He hit a wall—or the ground, or the ceiling—curled in fetal position. He gulped in mouthfuls of cold, bitter air, and forced himself to stand in spite of how he had lost all sense of orientation and space. When he opened his mouth to speak something hot dribbled out. 

“You can stop,” Shiro said. 

He _felt_ her twitch. _Is that so?_

He took a breath, again, shuddery through his nose. “I only wanted to please you, Mother.” 

_You did nothing of the sort, fraternizing with the enemy._

Shiro didn’t know what that meant. He used the back of his hand to wipe the blood from his mouth, smearing it over his skin. “I was trying to get close to him, Mother.” She stilled. “I wanted to bring him closer to me. To us.” 

She snapped her fingers and Shiro was brought to the throne hall. He stumbled forward but with a swift curl of her fingers she had him levitating before her, chin tilted upward. “You were trying to lure him to us?” 

The gentle upturn of Keith’s mouth, gentle but so devious, flashed through his mind. “Yes.” His nostrils flared, upper lip twitching furiously. “But—but I couldn’t do it myself.” 

“I underestimated you, Kuron,” Honerva said. She released her grip on him. “Come forward.” 

He obeyed. He didn’t stop until he reached her feet, bending to kneel. 

“No,” she said, “rise, Son,” and he did. 

Honerva peeled back the hood of her cowl, something she rarely did—Shiro nearly jumped at the stark white of her long, thin hair, the deep hollows of her cheeks. She reached cupped his face, and he’d forgotten that, too. 

Shiro breathed and stood there and breathed. 

“I will help you. I will make you stronger.” She did not smile. Stony, amber eyes darkened. “Soon, Marmora will be ours.” 

He dared close his eyes against her touch. 

**K**

Keith thought of so many things. Possibilities. He wondered if any of it was real at all. It must have been—if he concentrated hard enough, parsed through enough images of the boy’s stupid forelock and fangless smile, he could still smell airy, sweet nectar. 

There was no search. He grew up. He turned eleven, and then twelve, thirteen, fourteen. He grew stronger, harder. He bested all his peers in every possible regard. 

Fifteen, sixteen and the distance between himself and his friends grew palpable, too. He could still see the horror etched in Acxa’s features when her sword cut his lip, how she immediately dropped her weapon and knelt down on one knee murmuring apologies like prayer. 

She and others started going easy on him. He never was able to tell Romelle, or any of his friends, of who he met in the forest. 

They visited less often. _Haven’t you got class?_ they’d joke when they saw him. They’d laugh. _Table etiquette_. Embarrassingly, it was often true, and although Father Coran tried to make lessons interesting Keith couldn’t hide how bored he was. Most times he ended up using the salad forks as darts, hiding his smirk when they would graze over his teacher’s hair before impaling the wall behind them. 

He watched the way the citizens regarded him change from wonder and adoration to, as they too matured, the utmost reverence. 

Nothing repulsed him more. 

Seventeen. Keith knew something had shifted. People around him became tight-lipped. His mother never mentioned it, but there seemed to be a sentry guarding ever turn in the corridors. He was interrogated every time he wanted to out to the _courtyard, Gods, I just want to get some fresh air_. Keith asked himself if _he_ had driven this change, or if an outside force had—he’d heard of the other side since he was young, but it always seemed so far away, and not only in a physical sense. There were whispers of a witch who ruled that kingdom that stayed whispers. Even if the people he asked did have concrete answers, they never told him. 

He was restricted to the castle most days, and if the Queen was busy and he wasn’t training or studying, he wandered the halls sometimes so aimlessly he would lose track of time. 

On this day, Keith kept to his chamber. As they usually did, his eyes lazily wandered over the land he could see from his window. 

They landed on a crowd forming near the gates and sentries rushing to the scene. Keith’s heart thumped and he tried to quell the idea—it wasn’t so much an idea as it was a dream—from fully forming. He leaned into the glass to get a better look, but it wasn’t long before he grabbed his cloak and flew down stairwell after stairwell. 

The sentries had blades pointed at the frail, hooded form lying limp on the ground just outside the opened gates. “Your Highness,” they said, parting away from the body only slightly. Bewildered onlookers were kept back by more guards. “You should not be outside of the castle premises, Your Highness. The intruder—” 

“Is he—are they alive?” Keith asked, mouth twisting. 

“Yes, Your Highness.” 

“Remove their hood. 

“Your Highness—” 

“That is a _command_.” 

One of the sentries used the hilt of their sword to push the intruder’s hood back. Underneath the ragged fabric was a Galra woman—Keith told himself he would _not_ let that disappointed hitch in his breath be audible—skin bruised and stretched thin and white hair a frayed mess around her head. 

She opened her eyes with a great deal of effort. Keith couldn’t pinpoint exactly what color they were, a smear of azure and violet, though that didn’t mean anything when their grief spoke volumes. “How did you get here?” Keith asked, kneeling beside her and sending cutthroat glances at any sentries who moved to stop him. 

“I teleported.” The whisper was nearly lost on her lips, but Keith caught it. She smiled weakly at the shock on his expression. “You’ve grown up, Keith.” 

“White Lion?” he breathed. He barely saw her nod. “Oh, Gods. Help this woman.” He rose, grabbed the nearest sentry by the shoulders. It wasn’t about magic anymore. It was about a boy he could hardly remember and, unfortunately, never forget. “ _Help her! Do something!_ ” 

And that was how Keith learned of Princess Allura. 

Even with her shapeshifting abilities, Krolia had assumed the Marmorite spy dead when she failed to return to the kingdom within the planned time frame. Having been with the kingdom since she was a teen, she was sent to the other side on a one-year mission for intel. 

As Allura recovered in the infirmary, Keith could not help but pepper her with questions. He snuck down in between the sentries’ shift changes and waited for her to stir awake. 

She told him stories of when he was born. She met him when he was an infant, she said, before she left. 

Allura never talked about her mission, what she had seen, where her scars had come from. Keith could not bring himself to say Takashi Shirogane’s name. Partly because it had been so long it seemed pointless, and because he just _couldn’t_. 

Surely, though, she remembered the other boy. 

She did tell him, however, about her abilities, from controlling minds to bodies to space. He had never listened with so much wonder. For seventeen years, he believed he was the only witch in the kingdom. 

Keith asked her to teach him, when she fully recovered. He didn’t bother asking his mother, because there was _no way_ he wasn’t going to learn from Allura. In spite of that, it’d been so long since he even practiced magic he didn’t know if he could do anything. Even if he could, he wasn’t sure that he wanted to. 

Allura wasn’t the same kind, tale-teller in the courtyard as she was in the infirmary. As a teacher she was precise and demanding; patient, too, as she started Keith from the very basics. She wasn’t very well versed in pyrokinesis, but her father had been, and she passed on what knowledge she had. There were some moments, Keith’s eyes closed and feet planted on the ground with knees bent, where her hands would glide over his arms as they moved with his body, and Keith could forget about anything else. That was before he shot a flame through a garden hedge, of course. 

Their sessions seemed to have the same effect on Allura. She began to tell him of the other side, called the Command. 

“Their ruler…” her voice was hushed. “She’s the most powerful being I have ever encountered. Intelligent, but ruthless.” 

“No one’s never told me of that place,” Keith frowned, standing on the grass. She mirrored his position opposite him, but her eyes were closed. 

“I know. They wanted to protect you, Keith—” she’d called him that from the beginning and he never wanted to stop her “—and they were right to.” She paused. “Even I am hesitant to tell you much.” 

He rolled his shoulders back. 

And Takashi Shirogane’s existence went unspoken between them. 

* * *

He didn’t remember the forest being so clustered. 

Or the tree being so hard to find. 

But when he emerged from the thick of it after slashing through branches that prodded at him, sweating and panting and annoyed and squinting at the X mark, another figure did, too. 

Keith stopped breathing. 

Shiro was still taller than him, but there were unmistakable differences from the last time they had seen each other—a scar across the bridge of his nose, black hair turned white where it hung over his forehead. The angles across his face were more defined, a strange blend of youth and weariness. 

And there was an arm made of dull metal clamped down to Shiro’s right shoulder. 

**S**

Keith looked so _grown_ , taller and leaner and fearsome in the way he held the hilt of his sword steady in front of him. A braid, neat and tight, extended from the nape of his neck and over his shoulder. 

“Omega,” Keith breathed as he regarded Shiro. 

“Alpha,” Shiro replied. He was a little lost in Keith’s musk and the sun, a little in need of balance because it’d been years of machine-smoothed metal beneath his feet. 

Keith chucked his chin towards the prosthetic.“New… arm,” he said, barely. 

Shiro didn’t say anything. 

Keith didn’t jump when the mechanical fingers flexed, when his shoulder and forearm moved in synchrony as he offered a hand. 

Metal slid against flesh and they shook hands. 

Shiro wanted to pull him close fall into Keith. He looked up instead. “I think I can climb this tree now.” 

“Yeah?” Keith croaked. Shiro could sense that he probably had a hundred questions and, unfair as it was, he needed Keith to push them all down because he didn’t want to see the lab and its the blaring lights or feel the blinding heat seared into his arm. He didn’t want Keith to see that, either. 

“Yeah.” 

“Not as fast as I can, though,” and Keith finally smiled. Shiro’s chest ached, having forgotten what that looked like, and the warmth it sent through him. “I’ll even give you a headstart.” 

_Confident_. As Shiro started the ascent, Keith watched quietly from below. His prosthetic glowed to life, violet lines conjoining until they reached clawed fingertips. 

He moved like a machine, even the parts of him that were made of flesh. Some part of him was aware that he was made stronger, but it was easier to believe that this was him. 

Still, Shiro, digging his claws into the bark, didn’t see it when the younger closed his eyes. 

_What do you physically feel below you? Above you, around you._

_You don’t need to look at something with your eyes to see it. The key to teleportation is knowing the system around you, and knowing the system that is your body._

_When you move, your energy is transferred outside of your system._ Follow it. 

“What did I tell y—” Shiro stopped mid-sentence to gawk at Keith, sitting perfectly cross-legged with his eyes closed between the junction of two branches that made a V. 

Keith opened his eyes. He spoke soft. “It’s been a while, Shiro.” 

_White Lion_ , he didn’t say, stuck in place on the side of the trunk and looking up at Keith. 

“I found a teacher,” Keith replied, tucking his legs up to his chest to make room for Shiro. He climbed up beside him, leaning against the opposite branch. 

Shiro watched Keith drop his legs and swing them. Wasn’t it funny, he thought, how he had been surrounded by the stench of burning steel and intoxicatingly sweet poisons Honerva had brewed, only to come back to get a whiff of Keith’s scent and remember everything all over again? Like it had been a day since they’d seen each other. 

Like years of being strapped down to the cold table, Honerva’s rhythmic _shh, shh, shh_ driving him to a near breaking point as he thrashed thrashed thrashed wailed wailed wailed stop it stop it stop it, hadn’t happened. 

Like he could turn and Keith would be running off, demanding to be chased, and both fear and adventure would seize his heart before he started after him. 

Like he could turn and see the same smile. 

Honerva had not even asked him to harm him. She seemed to understand that sometimes, the hunt for prey had to be slow and careful. 

They found themselves gazing at each other for a moment before making an intense effort to look at anything else but. 

* * *

He had liked the quiet before. He had spent hours basking in filtered sunlight before Keith, listening to twigs rattle and insects chirp. 

The newly transformed Komar was both intricate and one, the room working like a singular machine with the High Priestess at the helm. Yet for such a formidable creature, it was incredibly silent. There were days when Honerva did not show, when steel arms whirred around him and worked at his body like he was a doll with broken joints. He could shout in pain, but he wasn’t sure that would do anything. His own voice, along with Honerva’s, had become pure background noise. 

Sometimes he thought he heard others’ voices. Dreams ebbed into reality. Or was it the other way around? 

Either way, Shiro had come out in need of _sound_. The forest gave him just that, but in the same vein it was overwhelming. He told himself that was why, in the ensuing days, he didn’t say much to Keith, although they both must have known there was more to it. 

Instead they found themselves returning to old past times. Shiro would silently follow Keith out to the stream he hadn’t seen since they were children, watch him throw stones in the water. There was an initial stillness, it seemed, when everyone held their breath. Honerva had been eerily quiet for a few days, but he could sense her growing irritable, not only through the growing pulses in his arm. 

More than that, he and Keith tiptoed around each other, unsure of what was okay. It had been years. Neither of them wanted to breach each other’s boundaries, whatever they were, and Keith never stepped into the dangerous territory of _where have you been?_

As Honerva grew impatient, Shiro’s quietness, too, turned into natural fervor. And in a way, it was like falling into step. 

The sun beat down in the clearing around the shore, and the water wasn’t so cold with Keith’s body pressed right against his. The alpha’s ribcage served a beating reminder that this was real life. It was so much more overwhelming than the forest could ever be. 

But he was wrong to think that closing all physical distance could make that yawning abyss between them slam its jaws shut. It was palpable in every _almost_ -bite as Keith’s fangs raked his neck, every time he pulled back from Shiro’s mouth even when Shiro begged for it, for more. He had forgotten touch, whether gentle or brash, and his body _needed_ it from Keith. 

It was palpable the shock and emptiness he would feel when Keith clothed himself and insisted they stop for both their sakes. 

In another way, it was like dying. 

They stopped altogether. Shiro would spend days in his chamber, nesting with what sheets he had and curling in on himself and getting sick of his own stench. 

And as Honerva’s claws dug deeper into his throat, Shiro hated himself for how much he needed Keith. Sometimes he would fold himself into Keith’s body, stretched over a patch of grass, and if it weren’t for Keith’s tentative arms coming to wrap around his chest, he was sure he would crumble. 

He was sure he would, eventually. He hardly saw Honerva, and that could only mean one thing—she was hiding, waiting, watching, and if he didn’t act soon, he could only imagine how the Komar would contort itself next. 

But it didn’t unfold that way. Not really. 

He couldn’t feel Honerva at all, and he realized that that must have been the final push he needed. 

It was strange to feel rain on his face for the first time, cold and wet and relentless. 

Shiro’s arm illuminated his path, and almost as if it knew where to go, he was led to the tree. 

The biggest tree Shiro had ever seen in his life. 

From the girth of its towering trunk— 

—to sprawling branches far above— 

—to the little plant life under its shadow. 

His arm hummed. Water slid off the curve of his forearm easily. 

“We should talk,” were the first words Keith said to him. Bangs that had escaped his loose braid were already plastered to his forehead, water dripping 

_There’s nothing to say_. He curled and uncurled his fingers, where heat was beginning to build. Droplets fizzed and evaporated upon contact. 

Shiro stumbled. “I—” 

“We can’t,” Keith said, pitch heightening close to a sob, “keep doing this.” 

“I don’t know what you mean,” Shiro whispered, but Keith’s soured scent was telling enough. He kept his arm, forcibly, at his side. 

Keith growled and slammed Shiro against the nearest tree, pinning him in place with a knee between his legs and hands flattened against either side of his head. The sudden move left Shiro gasping. “ _You can’t possibly_ —” 

“I’m not from Marmora, Keith,” Shiro shouted. He let the cold trickle down through his collar and wishing it would take him, take him, take him. “I—I’m not—” he can’t breathe when his throat is on fire “—I never told you, you—you didn’t know—” 

White sclerae flashed gold, clouded from the darkened morning sky and fury, and Shiro had never felt _genuinely_ scared of Keith before. “ _Of course I fucking knew!_ ” The scream caused the ground around Shiro to spin. The glow from his prosthetic died. More broken, then, “Of course I did.” 

And between them, the only light came from the flame growing over Keith’s lowered palm as Shiro came crashing forward in a desperate, hungry kiss. He curled his hands tightly in Keith’s hair, undoing his braid in the process, and they scraped down to his neck to finally cupping his face. Without hesitating, Keith pressed his whole body into it, extinguishing his fire and grasping Shiro’s waist. The change in his scent flooded around Shiro. 

Shiro never wanted to break away from him, but when Keith did it for him, he realized that the warm dampness under the pads of his thumbs is Keith’s tears. 

They were both crying, he realized, but before Keith fully swooped in again, he pressed a thumb to his mouth. “How?” Shiro breathed. “How did you know that I was—” 

“White Lion,” Keith said, and Shiro’s eyes widened at the familiar name. “She taught me everything, Shiro.” He paused, chest heaving. Shiro had never seen anyone so beautiful. “And then—” eventually, after years of skirting around it “—she told me about the prophecies… the story about two boys.” He smiled weakly despite everything. “You and me, Shiro.” 

He wanted to sob. Shiro shook his head, sending water flying, and ducked his head into Keith’s neck. He breathed in his strong scent in an attempt to will himself to calm down. “I should have—she asked me to help her—” 

“You were a child,” Keith countered, though he would always wonder what would have happened if Shiro told him what had happened years ago, “you didn’t know better.” 

_I still don’t_. Shiro let him lean in this time, capturing his lips with the only-slightly jarring knock of teeth against teeth. 

“I could,” Keith said, cried, leaning close until their noses touched, “take us to the sky, Takashi. You could leave this place, we could—go anywhere. _Anywhere_.” 

How he laughed through his tears was a mystery. 

“Anywhere,” Keith repeated, wishing Shiro would wipe that stupid bitter smile off his face, “I’d take you to the edges of this land, Shiro, to the skies.” 

“That won’t stop her,” Shiro replied in a whisper, and it was true. 

He pulled Keith closer. “You’ll find a way. I believe that, Keith. I believe in _you_.” 

Keith kissed him again so he wouldn’t cry more. 

“This isn’t goodbye, Shiro,” kissing, gasping for air, kissing, “this isn’t a goodbye kiss.” 

“Okay. Okay. Keith, Keith,” he could only say Keith’s name over and over again in reverence and hopelessness because it was so hard to believe Keith’s words, “Keith. _Keith_.” 

Even harder when he felt cold air on his lips and against his knees instead of a warm body. Among the remnants of gold glimmer, the words “I’ll see you again” hung hauntingly in the air. 

* * *

“I need your help, Princess.” 

She knew. “Reality-warping is more dangerous than you think, Takashi.” 

“I know the risks. It’s—” he stopped. “It’s not just him. It’s the _kingdom_ , Allura.” 

But she had already risen, grabbing her cowl from its hook on the wall. “I know. Come with me.” 

* * *

“You got the message?” 

“You finally learned telepathy.” 

“Sounds like a yes.” 

“It is.” 

A smirk. “I told you it wasn’t a goodbye kiss, didn’t I?” 

“ _Keith_.” 

“Okay. You ready?” 

“No. Kiss me, Keith.” 

“Okay.” 

Shiro pressed his forehead to Keith’s when they parted. “Okay.” 

“Ready?” 

“Yeah.” 

* * *

Shiro is certain he shouldn’t have wandered out this far. 

It’s okay, though, or it should be—with midday approaching one of the Druids will notice his disappearance soon, and even if the Priestess’ servants didn’t manage to find him Honerva herself certainly will. Altean alchemy, or clairvoyance, or something of the like. 

He hums and feels sunshine, and then he gasps when he stumbles across the biggest tree he’s ever seen. Shiro marvels at how wide its trunk is, wondering how many years it had taken for a tiny sprout to grow to that size. 

He cranes his neck up to look at the branches. 

As he recognizes the flash of black that comes hurtling at him from above as a _boy_ , Shiro watches his expression change from defiance into realization that he’s been spotted. Middair, the boy reflexively changes course and tumbles to the leafy ground beside him. 

The boy lands lightly on his two feet and rose, drawing out a blade. 

“Wait,” Shiro says hurriedly, “don’t—” 

Then the boy starts laughing. Shiro cannot be more confused, but he does feel relief when the blade was lowered to the boy’s side. “I wasn’t actually gonna do anything, dummy.” 

He lets the boy take a step closer. And that’s when he sees it. 

Twin galaxies of violet stars settled deep in gold nebulae. Purple skin paler than this, uncut raven locks that fall around a face too young and too fierce, unsheathed fangs biting into a lower lip. 

He cannot stop the gasp that is pulled out of his lungs. 

He knows he doesn’t know this face, or that smell of wood and spice, but something else compels him to stick out his hand, which the boy regards suspiciously. 

“I’m Takashi Shirogane,” he says. 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [They Can't Take The Moon From Us (The Childhood Sweethearts Remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25486522) by [SashaDistan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SashaDistan/pseuds/SashaDistan)




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